


Rubber Band

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Ending, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Post-Series, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:17:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time, it was a confession whispered in her neck that shocked her. (Post-series, alternate canon.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rubber Band

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by lizparker6: Michael/Sara, non-epilogue compliant and the sentence “If we were back in school, I would consider you way out of my league.”

“Self-esteem, Scofield.”

Sara’s voice snaps like a whip. Like a token rubber band around a wrist. It’s coupled with an actual flick on the inside of Michael’s wrist that makes him slightly jolt in his chair.

The first time, it was a confession whispered in her neck that shocked her. _If we were back in school, I would consider you way out of my league_. He said it in a playful tone, but beneath the charade, it was the most serious joke she’d ever heard. It had been the first one in a recurring series of similar comments. From the reports she’d read at Fox River, from her conversation with his therapist in Chicago, even from Lincoln’s grumbled remarks, she _knew_ about Michael’s issue. But there was a gap between knowing and experiencing it firsthand.

On the other side of table, Lincoln shakes his head. Been there, done that for thirty years. It never fails to make him mad, but he’s learned to live with it, and he tries not to badger Michael anymore – not too often, at least.

They’re on the veranda of Michael and Sara’s small bungalow, evening sun setting on the beach and salted sea-breeze pleasant in the warm end of the day. Maybe it’s because of the breeze that Michael’s cheeks don’t turn red like each time Lincoln had chastised him in the past for the very same reason Sara just did. He doesn’t blush, apologize, try to provide an explanation or distract them with a witty retort. He merely smiles and moves on.

Lincoln raises his beer to Sara.

She soothes the sharp flick she gave Michael on the soft skin on the inside of his wrist with a circling, appeasing stroke of her thumb.

* *


End file.
